


Shower Thoughts

by thirsyduck



Series: Duck Dump Drabble [4]
Category: Disney Duck Universe, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Masturbation, Other, Sex Toys, implied three gay caballeros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24698236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirsyduck/pseuds/thirsyduck
Summary: Donald enjoys somemetime in the shower.
Relationships: José Carioca/Donald Duck/Panchito Pistoles
Series: Duck Dump Drabble [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785571
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	Shower Thoughts

With a quiet click, the bathroom door closed behind him, but even the soft sound was enough to have Donald glancing over his shoulder, contraband clutched close to his chest as he waited for the inevitable high-pitched interruption. But none came and his shoulders sagged in relief. Quickly, he locked the door and moved further away, careful to walk on the tips of his webbed feet as to avoid any unnecessary noise. Late as it was, he couldn’t risk waking the other occupants of the houseboat.

Donald would die if the boys ever discovered why their uncle always took his showers after their bedtime.

Not that it was the kind of question the ducklings would ever think to ask. All of six years old, they had more important questions on their mind. Like who could hold their breath the longest. If they could flap their arms hard enough to fly. If the moon was made of cheese….

A fond smile etched its way across Donald’s beak as he thought of them. Wonderful boys. Each unique and brilliant in their own way. Rambunctious little fellas, sweeter than cotton candy and with wonder sparkling behind their eyes; Donald loved them so much. Every moment spend with them was precious and to be cherished.

It was just. Every now and then…not often, really. But—

Sometimes he needed a little time alone. Sometimes, he needed to take a moment to enjoy himself, by himself.

Which was why Donald found himself sneaking around his own houseboat at night, hours after his boys had been tucked into bed. He felt positively criminal, like he was harboring some awful, illegal drug that could burn the boat down if he wasn’t careful. And, well, if the boys caught him with it, his head would surely catch flame and do exactly that. The only reason his face wasn’t red now, was because guilt cooled the worst of his embarrassment.

It plucked at his heart strings, creating a dower melody even as Donald deposited his illicit goods onto the sink counter. A few scented body oils, meant to warm the skin underneath feathers, beak polish, a bathroom radio, and a thin, tall, rectangular, unmarked black box. Looking at it, he gulped. Nervous thoughts buzzed around in the back of his head, like bees lost on their way back to the hive.

_Was he really going to do this? Was he really so desperate? It has been **years** ; could he even? Would it even work? Could it even…fit?_

Shaking his head, Donald reached for the box to open it. Nothing on the outside gave away its contents, but most adults who looked would know, or at least suspect, what was inside.

He had ordered it using his new phone, the fancy touch screen kind the boys had begged him for. A confusing device, but it had done more to distract the boys than music, books, or tv ever had. Another source of guilt there; searching for distractions to watch the kids while he took care of the houseboat. But he wouldn’t dwell on it, not now. That could come later. Donald had told himself that he would leave his negative thoughts at the door whenever he came into the bathroom and locked himself in, signifying that he was about to indulge in yet another of his late-night…indiscretions.

With a shuddery breath, he opened the box and pulled out the wickedness that lay within. A long, smooth, blue dildo. His cheeks warmed just looking at it. So much larger than the picture online had implied. It was thin with a subtle backward arch as it reached the slightly widening base. The base where a clear suction cup was attached for an obvious purpose.

Oh dear, oh boy.

Donald quacked nonsensically to himself, just worried and unsure warbles. He had really gone and done it. He had been browsing the web for scented oils, wanting something to spruce up the boathouse with. Candles were out of the question— Donald didn’t allow any kind of flame inside the house— and as he’d browsed, one of those aggravatingly inconvenient popups and obscured half the page he had been scrolling. A popup leading to a website called Naughty Gryphon.

Immediately, the very first thing Donald did upon seeing it, was snatch the boys’ phones up and double down on the parental locks. Ignoring their whining and complaining at being pulled away from their electronic entertainments; he had made sure the most risqué things they could possibly come across were toy unboxing videos. Of course, he’d have to research to make sure he had all the worst sights blocked. And where else to start than the sight that had sent him into a censorship frenzy in the first place?

Ahem.

Anyway, he’d bought the tamest looking adult device from the sight. Adult device…yeah, that was better. Adult toy? Whatever.

On the sight, there had been the most bizarre shapes, bright colors, nothing looking natural and all leaving him more curious than he should have been. It had just been a while, years, since Donald had engaged physically with anything other than his own hand. In a sexual sense. Where was the time, the drive? He usually had his hands full taking care of the triplets. Anytime he took the time to take care of his own baser needs, it felt like such a selfish waste….

With no real force, Donald wracked his knuckles against his forehead. None of that now. After.

A deep breath, and he was stripping from his sailor uniform, setting it on the counter along with his cap. He glanced at the adult device, but his nerves were still cooling, not yet the hard steel needed to pick it up off the counter. Instead, he waddled to the shower and pushed back the clear curtain and turned a little silver knob. Warm, scattered water droplets splashed against porcelain, filling the small room with the dull roar of water fall. Steam began to rise and Donald allowed the warmth to rest heavy on his shoulders, gently brushing off the ache of pain that covered his entire body. Too many adventures, injuries, lack of rest and the constant need to maintain the houseboat had left Donald in a permanent state of sore. He rolled a shoulder, one hand on the space between his collar and said shoulder, as he went back for the bathroom radio. It too had a suction cup on its backside.

Once secured safely underneath the shower head, he turned it on. The station was one he would never listen to around the boys. Alternative rock, the kind that had swearing during the radio shows and the song said naughty words like sex and candy. Finding the old radio in the junkyard during one of his hauls had worked miracles to calm Donald’s stress. He had forgotten how much he missed his kind of music. The kind that slid in between his self and body, blending the two together, his very being resonating with the melodious rhythms. Vibing.

Music hadn’t been the only thing he missed, though. Nowhere near the definition of a party animal, Donald had still enjoyed the more carnal delights of the body. Sure, mostly it was just himself and his own imagination, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t had his fair share of fun in college. Much of it with the same two, colorful birds; his two best pals teaching Donald the samba, both vertical and horizontal.

Donald’s wistful sigh was drowned out by the radio and shower spray. Perfect. He grinned, nerves sliding off his back like water off a duck.

What a plucky expression. Chuckling, he turned back to the sink counter; remembering the bravery that had him jumping into a volcano to save a friend’s dog, to sail through rocky waters during a hurricane, to sing on stage at a crowded stadium—Donald picked up the adult toy. 

It was weighty in his palm, and his fingers were only just able to close around it. He bounced his wrist up and down, judging its weight, durability. It didn’t look like any prick he’d seen before, even if it had been a more neutral color than blue. Donald’s favorite color, he hadn’t been able to resist once he learned it was an option. If he was going to delve into dark, sensual waters, Donald was going to swim all the way down. He never did anything by halves; which apparently included buying online adult toys.

The first song on the radio came to an end, and Donald was reminded of yet another reason why he chose to seal himself away so late at night—There were rarely commercial breaks and radio talk shows had stopped.

Another song picked up, with slowly strummed guitar chords and soft percussion. The male singer crooned pornographic lyrics in an almost casual tone and Donald shuddered. Desire gently caressed its way up his body, sliding between and under feathers.

Toy in hand, he stepped into the shower, closed the clear curtain, and took careful consideration of where h placed it. On the opposite wall of where the knobs and shower head were installed. Weighty as it was, the toy stayed on the wall after having its suction cup wetted.

Next would be simple enough. Just put it in. Donald could do that. Easy.

Water rained over him as he looked at it like the toy was a cursed relic stolen from an ancient temple. Or better, some ill gotten good from the dark web Donald has hear so much about.

So, just turn around and push it in. That’s all he had to do. The bizarreness of the blue thing he was looking at skewed the duck’s judgement. It was like he had never had never masturbated before, let alone had sex. So what came next, when he did press his hands on the wall ahead and pushed himself onto the definitely not of this world faux, cock— Donald really only had himself to blame.

“Wak,” his eyes widened and his rear instinctively tucked forward. Just the tip had stretched him to the point of pain, like serrated blades had been digging into his entrance walls. He glanced behind him to the blue rod attached to the wall, expecting to see blood, but there was nothing. It had just been pain, another obvious sign that Donald had ignored. It had been years since he’d fucked anything bigger than his own fingers; _of course_ something so large and long couldn’t fit right away.

Just like with disgusting food or drinks, Donald took the same attitude with the toy; he’d spent money on it. He was going to use it.

It would just take some preparation first.

The hand cupping his own rump moved to the front of his beak and Donald’s eyes slanted as he licked the tips. Feathers fluffed and he tasted the overly filtered water on his narrow tongue. He pressed his index finger past his bottom bill, into his beak, then his middle; triangular tongue swirling around them and flicking over the pads, the knuckles. Saliva coated the inside of his mouth, slicking the feathered digits and soaking through to the skin. All of it was unnecessary; an avian, he produced his own lube. A convenience, but one that often went ignored. Donald enjoyed the way his tongue tickled around his own fingers. The way his mind drifted to something much larger being sucked down his beak.

To that first time he had ever touched another person, the indecent act that had sent him sailing down the deceptively bright canal of carnal desire. The waters shimmering red and green, inviting.

Taking place in the plastic outhouse at a crowded, badly lit concert. A hole in the thin wall, words written in Spanish that he couldn’t read. And temptation literally poking him in the side of the arm. Sticky, hard temptation. Red, with white, at the time he hadn’t known who— _Panchito_ ….

Donald bit down on his fingers and groaned. His erection had fallen from its feather hidden folds during the midst of his imaginings. The tightly curled dick hanging heavy between his legs. How could he have possibly forgotten the most important part of sex? The buildup. Foreplay. No wonder he hadn’t been able to just slide down onto the toy. He hadn’t even been properly lubed, not nearly enough for a normal prick, much less the monstrosity behind him.

Maintaining one hand on the wall for balance, he once again reached behind himself, only this time he pushed his fingers over and through fluffy tail feathers. His index finger searched out his entrance, and Donald shuddered when it made contact. He traced the tip around the rim and then pushed it inside, just to the first knuckle. His own heat clenched around the finger, tight and sucking him in deeper. Donald’s eyes squeezed shut as he ignored the discomfort, the slight burn around from where his finger intruded.

Pushing in farther, Donald added a second finger, sliding the two in and out, scissoring himself open. Water mixed with the slick that had started to leak out and around his fingers; thinning and running down his legs, undistinguishable from the shower water as it flowed down the drain. He curled his fingers, searching for that spot that would make everything easier. That would— _oh, oh, oh!_

Donald moaned, his voice completely covered by the shower’s wet roar and the radio. He pressed against that spot again, his legs going weak as pleasure stabbed through him with every push. His hand on the wall clenched into a fist as he added a third finger, moving too fast, but too impatient to care. An anxious bird who didn’t trust relaxation, didn’t trust that his own pleasure wouldn’t turn on him; Donald needed to be restrained, pinned down by strong hands, for rich with desire growls to be whispered in his avian ear. Telling him why he needed to let go, let them take care of him. He was good, doing so well; _just give in._

Donald jerked his hand out of himself and slammed it onto the wall ahead, his head hanging between his tow stretched arms as water poured over his back, slowly seeping through the feathers and trickling along the skin underneath. Pleasure pulsed from behind and his stiff member throbbed. That had been close. He could have lost himself there and forgot all about the toy stuck to the wall behind him. Which would have been a waste; it had been expensive. Admitting he had missed sex, just to himself, had proved to be an excruciatingly arduous task, like convincing himself that he actually wanted to be plucked and strung over a fire. But once that fiery heat scorched along his skin, blazing a path from his head strong heart to his cock? Giving in to the burning want had turned out to be inexplicably easy.

Swallowing the worst of his desires, Donald reached back behind himself with a shaky hand. A smile curved up the side of his beak, noticing how something so simple as a fingering had shaken him up so bad. Excitement crackled hot under his skin and Donald bit his bottom bill. Lining himself up, Donald loosened his jaw and took a deep breath. Then, he counted down from five, unease strumming over the taught strings of desire, synchronizing with the beat of the base guitar playing on the radio.

Closing his eyes, as if that would make the intrusion easier, Donald slowly lowered himself onto the faux blue cock. He grunted low in victory when he didn’t immediately pull back in pain with the tip pressed inside. It stretched him open as he cautiously pressed himself further onto it. His teeth were clenched hard enough to grind. Not a good thing; if he wanted this to work, he needed to loosen up…heh.

Donald thought of warm nights in Brazil, out on an open veranda, he imagined the scent of cigar smoke. White hands that faded to red reaching for him, pulling him close and peppering light touches across his stomach. Then the touches fade completely, red and green bodies come together in front of him, entwining, sensually, happily; _without him._

Donald slammed himself the rest of the way onto the toy, his eyes widening and tears pricking the corners as pained ripped its way up his ass. And if he hadn’t slammed a hand over his beak, not even the loudest death metal could have covered the resulting scream. His legs shook and if not for sheer force of will, and his grip on the wall, he would have fallen. His ass burned and the rounding bottom of the toy stretched Donald open further than he thought physically possible.

Finally releasing his beak, Donald wheezed, coughing and forcing himself to ignore the pain. Easy to do, considering he was still hard. The stretching before having apparently done its trick, the stinging pain already fading to a dull throb. He reached down over his stomach and gripped his erect prick, squeezing and pressing his thumb against the tightly coiled sides. His hand slid over his dick, finer tips traced around the sides and he pinched the tip between a thumb and forefinger. His knees instantly went weak, nearly buckling from the pleasure that shot from his cock straight to his eyes, making white star-like dots dance across his vision.

Haltingly, and with shaky knees, he leaned forward, the toy tugging at his walls as it left him. Donald’s chest came close to touching the wall he was leaning against before he pushed himself back, the hand on his dick pumping slowly to mask the resulting pain. With stuttery breaths, he repeated the action, gradually loosening himself up around the large toy. Pleasure slithered up his veins and coiled in his head like a snake, its venom infecting his very rational as the tip of the toy pressed against that one spot that rendered Donald weaker than any weapon ever had. He panted, forcing back moans, though he needn’t bother. The radio had shifted to a power ballad, one waxing lyrical love poetry over a strong drumline and powerful lead guitar.

Donald matched the music’s increase in tempo, fevered movements as he rocked himself on and off the toy. He stretched and constricted around it, and his hand left his prick to feel along his stomach. His fingers glided over white feathers, feeling for anything protruding. The toy was so big, it had to be, but it wasn’t. His hand smoothly moved higher, past his stomach and up to his chest. Donald fondled the thicker feathers over his chest; the difference unperceivable to anyone not directly touching them. He plucked at one, throwing his head back and moaning as he increased the pace and intensity of his self-inflicted impaling.

“Ah, yeah,” he panted, eyes fluttering open—when had he closed them? Donald looked behind him, to where his rear bounced against the wall, and saw a fantasy. A hand, not his own, smoothed its way down his chest and took hold of his aching, dripping prick. Another set threaded through his tail feathers and lightly tugged. There were more hands, roughly jerking Donald off as he fucked himself, deep voices encouraged him, speaking under and over the blaring rock music.

_Good job Donald, you’re so good. You deserve this, don’t you? Is this what you want? I know it is. So stubborn; enjoy yourself._

“Yes,” he gasped. “Please, I want—”

_Do you know what you want, my friend? I’ll give you what you **need.** _

A webbed-foot slapped against porcelain as pleasure shot straight though him, arching his back even as he threw himself against the toy harder and harder. Hands clutched at him, desperate, covetous. They wanted him and he wanted them.

“Oh, oh- ah, mm.” Water rolled down the sides of his beak and dripped into his mouth. He sputtered it out as he moaned; licking his lower beak to clear away the wetness gathered there even as more landed on him. His plump rump bounced against the wall, feathers flattening and fluffing back up as he thrust himself onto the toy.

A wet slopping sound followed every rough pounding against the wall, either from the shower water or his own slick gushing around faux cock; Donald didn’t have a mind to care. He was seeking his own release like an overboard sailor desperately grasping for a lifesaver.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he slammed himself down on the toy one final time, keeping it seated fully inside as he ground down around it; its length stirring up his insides and wracking his entire body with pleasure. It shocked its was from his rear and came out his tightly squeezed dick in sporadic spurts. A foot stomped as he milked himself to through his orgasm, his beak clenched firmly shut, only a low growl of ecstasy escaping the duck as he came.

The after glow was a gentle warmth that temporarily shielded him from the hot water pouring down from above. But it was fleeting and sooner than he would have liked, Donald was coming down from his post-orgasmic high. His shoulder’s sagged and he slumped forward so the entirety of his weight was being supported by the front shower wall. As he moved forward, the toy slipped from his slippery, cum coated hole. His own, no mess from the faux prick. How convenient.

Donald chuckled, but the amusement didn’t last. Furrowed brows and a drooped beak replacing what little of a smile there was. What had he just done? He’d never…yes, they’d done things before. Together. That didn’t mean; the duck had _never_ gone so far as to use his friends, birds he respected as…as material for his own. But he **_wanted_** —

The sound of the rare late-night radio DJ interrupted the thoughts Donald was grateful to be away from, announcing the time and promising another string of uninterrupted late-night jams right after these messages.

Not yet midnight, then.

Donald glanced behind him, breathing wheezy and eyes dark with lust, phantom hands still ran over his pleasure-soaked body, plying at him, persuasive with their ghostly affections as Donald greedily thought—

_Yeah, I’ve got time._

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just want your fave to enjoy themselves. Might right that whole "sucked one of his best friend's dick on accident at a concert" fic later.


End file.
